bogimpi
In the twilight, they lowered the coffin into the ground. "He'll be alive again," muttered an old lady dressed in black. She was hunched with age and did not bother wearing make up. She looked like she was dead herself. She said, "No one like him just dies of a heart attack." Her son said, "Hm?" through his own tears.
He rose without speaking. A rustling of silk robes. He climbed from the box, elevated across three evenly spaced cinder blocks and shaped like a coffin. He climbed out, and he was hunched, standing crouched, almost. And he rose, suddenly, with sickening cracks as his spine aligned itself.
The sun was bright. And it reflected into the canteen on the belt of the traveller. He called to his friends something. They kept walking. The snake bit him directly on the ankle. He cried out again. His friends didn't turn. They kept walking. He whipped the canteen from his belt and smashed it on the snake, and the snake hissed wildly. The snake's head caved in.
writing since 2011 · 3 entries · 3 days shown up
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snakecanteenbeltfriendswalkingroseclimbedcoffinhunchedsunbrightreflectedtravellerbitdirectlyankle